THURSDAY. MARKET DAY.

Ostriches.

Zebra.

Kori Bustard. Because they are so heavy, they tend to walk more than fly. Bustard means birds that walk.

It’s a long bumpy jeep ride before we arrive at the Maasai village and the open air market. I’m uncomfortable because I feel like a rich American among the poor Maasai. It’s as if anything the West brings only works if it’s money. Western clothes—jeans and t-shirts—look dirty and dingy. Traditional Maasai clothes are bright and colorful red and purple wraps that look beautiful against the dark skin and long limbs of the Maasai. The women wear elaborate beads and the warriors carry walking sticks or spears. I see Moses, my favorite guide, wearing a green linen shirt and pressed pants and realize that what they wear is irrelevant. Guides are paid pretty well. So, again, it comes down to money.

Schools and medicine are always welcome. We visited a few schools on our way to the market. The religion that paid for the school becomes the faith of the students. Presbyterian. Catholic. Lutheran.

Now that I want to spend my dollars at the market, I realize that I’ve foolishly spent all of my money at the little shop at the lodge. All I can do is admire the bright fabric and the Artful Dodger, Stephen, who charms and smiles for the most gum and trinkets from our party.

After wandering through the market looking at coffee, potatoes, clothes, shoes, sandals made of tires, bright patterned fabric, and children wanting, we go to the cattle market where the men are packed in a corral buying and selling cattle and goats.

Clare buys a dark brown goat for the staff at the lodge. It’s a beautiful little thing and I’m afraid it will be slaughtered and served for our dinner. LeDoux thinks the same thing so we decided to ride in a different jeep on the return trip. We ride with Moses.

The Range Rover dies a few times on the way home, once when Moses stops for me to pee behind a huge tree called the wait-a-minute because the branches catch on your clothes and stop you in your tracks until someone comes to release you from its grip. Moses being Moses, jumps the gears and gets us going from a dead stop. With the Chyulu Hills in sight, we see a group of ostrich and Moses slows down.

“Don’t stop,” We yell. “We don’t need to stop!”